


Bad Dream

by 94worms



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Nightmare, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Good, Other, PTSD, dark backstory, muriel has a really bad time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 11:09:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17600189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/94worms/pseuds/94worms
Summary: With my limited knowledge of how gladiator combat works, here's my version of Muriel's extended backstory. It's um. Bad.





	Bad Dream

The fight was brutal as always. He hated it, hated the roar of the crowd and the knowledge that no matter what, he had to kill or die in the arena. Some days he wished he could just back down and do just that, die, but the Count made sure that wasn't the case. He'd be dragged into the arena and coaxed to fight. On multiple occasions, he'd been dosed with powerful drugs to make him angry, or rage blind, or afraid. The one being used in this fight was something he'd never felt before. He could feel a weight in his hand, probably an axe or similar, but that was the only concrete thing he could perceive. He heard the screams of the crowd, but they faded in and out of clear focus at random. He could see shapes moving around him. None gave him any real semblance of a recognizable form, however, some passed right through him harmlessly.  
"VESUVIA!" He heard the magically amplified voice from the stand. "IT'S TIME FOR ROUND FOUR! THE SCOURGE OF THE SOUTH, UNDEFEATED IN COMBAT FOR YEARS, WILL HE FINALLY MEET HIS MATCH?!" the roar of the crowd amplified. Muriel felt himself be dragged forward, but couldn't see how. The drug they'd put in his food was a powerful one. He felt almost calm. "WE HAVE A VISITING RIVAL FROM ACROSS THE SEA!" The screams faded out of Muriel's perception again. A new contender, huh? Maybe today would be the day he got to die.   
It wasn't. When the starting horn sounded, those who had dragged him into the arena fled. His vision was fucked up. Nothing he was seeing made any sense. In front of him there was a dark figure, bigger than him, with some kind of helmet on. He tried to take a step back, but his legs wouldn't move that way.   
He fell back as he was hit hard in the chest by a blunt force. Crumpled on the ground, he still felt nothing. No fear, no sadness. No pain. Nothing. Until he forced himself to his feet and refocused on the figure in front of him.   
Lucio.   
Rage filled every part of his body, he raised the axe in his hand and swung, but it went right through him with no effect. Too high for any kind of logical reasoning, he struck again, spun around, not knowing what to do, as the apparition of Lucio disappeared. Trying to find him. The count. His captor.   
Blinding rage possessed him, he swung at every one of the shapes that clouded his vision, until one made a connection. He heard the sound of metal going through flesh, and then bone, as he brought the axe back up and swung again. And again. And again, until the handle of the axe shattered and broke apart.  
His vision cleared.   
What was in front of him was very much not the dead count.   
It was a body, yes, but not one he recognized. Completely decapitated. Limbs missing. Torso almost separated from the legs through the middle. It was a bloody mess. He recognized some of the armor the now dead rival was wearing as specially made, gladiator class. He was staring at what he wished was himself.   
He was dragged back down to the dungeons after the conclusion to the fight. The drug was still wearing off, his useful vision going in and out, and his emotions shifting from blinding rage and absolute, crushing remorse.   
He tried his best to get the blood off of his body, tears streaming down his face and clouding his already impaired senses. He was just about done when he head voices approaching.  
"Of course. We'll tie him down, the drug probably isn't out of his system yet."  
"Have you done this before?"  
"Oh, yes, but he's usually sedated heavily. I was told you wouldn't care for that."  
"No, I wouldn't."  
"In that case, we'll dose him with the serum and put him in a biting mask. You can't be too careful."   
"The mask won't be necessary."  
"Are you sure?"  
Muriel recognized one of the voices as the Count's. The other vaguely resembled that of a noblewoman, refined accent and diction with a hint of superiority complex. And he knew exactly what was going on. He lacked the energy to do much about it at this point. Sometimes he'd manage to scare one of these nobles off before anything bad happened, but not always. Today felt like a day he wouldn't be able to. The noble and the Count approached his door.  
"So this is the mighty Scourge...."   
"..........."  
"He's not much of a talker. Don't worry about that." The door swung open and the Count walked confidently into the small room, holding a bag of powder in his hands. He stood just out of Muriel's reach as he reached into the pouch and extracted some, blowing it in Muriel's face. He tried not to breathe it in, but it was already too late. It had gotten on his skin and in his eyes, and the fast working powder had already begun to take effect. His body felt heavy. His eyes started to close. He vaugely felt the Count tighten his chains to the wall.   
"No, don't...." He managed to say. "...Make her go away...."   
"Sorry, Scourge." Came the reply. "Paying customers are paying customers. Play nice." and the door shut loudly as he heard the click of two sets of heels on the stone floor.

"-uriel! Muriel! Wake up!" Someone was shaking him. He opened his eyes and quickly realized he was not, in fact, in the coliseum. He was in his own hut, on the floor, wrapped in a fur and being shaken by the apprentice. Oh.   
"........how'd you get in..."  
"You invited me here. I went back to the shop to get some saffron for tea, and-" his eyes opened all the way and he got to his feet, rushing over to where you'd dropped the bag of saffron and grabbing it. He opened the door. "Muriel, what are you doing? That stuff is expensive!" He paid no attention to your question, and threw the bag as far as he could away from the hut.   
"WHY would you do that?!" He asked you.  
"...Because I forgot to bring it when I came over the first time? I'd been meaning to bring you some, Asra got it from Prakra and said it was really good."  
"Get out of my house."   
"I don't understand, I-"  
"LEAVE!" tears started to stream down his face. "Why would you try and do that to me?"  
"Do what to you?"   
"Don't act like you don't know!"  
"I'm not acting." You explained. "I have no idea what's going on, I got back from the shop, and you were on the floor screaming! I thought you were hurt, but you were just having a nightmare, and then I tried to wake you up, and you threw an entire bag of Prakran saffron out into the woods!" He took a step back.  
"I'll .... explain it..."   
The conversation was a long and painful process. He told you about the nightmare. And about the fights. And about the aftermath. "Lucio.... he saw how profitible it was to.. uhm. To sell me." tears never stopped streaming down his face. "It was most gladiators. Except a lot of them would go willingly because they'd get a cut of the money if they..... did well. I didn't ever go willingly. They used crushed herbs stored in bags like that.... They'd blow the powder in my face and I couldn't move, couldn't fight back... or do much. It was.... really bad........" You didn't know what to do or say. The recounting of his years of abuse were hard enough to hear, much less live through.   
"Muriel..... I'm so sorry." You wrapped the blanket around his shoulders again. "If I'd known I'd've never brought that."   
"....It's ok." He wiped the tears out of his eyes. ".....thanks for letting me talk about it."


End file.
